Andrew was esteemed the best cudgel-player for twenty miles round, so that in brief space he cooled the ardour of his antagonist, and dealt such visitations upon his skull as might have made a much firmer head ache for a fortnight. The man stepped back, and, pausing in his assault, raised his hand to his forehead, and buried it among his dark locks. It returned covered with blood. “Thou hast cracked my crown,” he said, “but yet ye sha’ na gang scatheless;” and, flinging down his cudgel, he flew on his young foe, and, grasping his body before he was aware of the attack, whirled him to the earth with an appalling impetus. “The Lord hae mercy on me!” said Andrew, “I’m a dead man.” He was not far from it, for his rude foe was preparing to put the finishing stroke to his victory. Suddenly something stirred in the bushes, and the conqueror, turning away from his victim, cried out, “The bogle! the bogle!” and fled precipitately. Andrew ventured to look up. He saw the figure which had been described to him approaching; it came nearer and nearer; its face was very pale, and its step was not heard on the grass. At last it stood by his side, and looked down upon him. Andrew buried his face in his cloak: presently the apparition spoke--indistinctly indeed, for its teeth seemed to chatter with cold: “This is a cauld an’ an eerie night to be sae late on Anneslie Muir!” and immediately it glided away. Andrew lay a few minutes in a trance; and then, arising from his cold bed, ran hastily towards the cottage of his mistress. His hair stood on end, and the vapours of the night sunk chill upon his brow as he lifted up the latch and flung himself upon an oaken seat. “Preserve us!” cried the old woman. “Why, ye are mair than aneugh to frighten a body out o’ her wits! To come in wi’ sic a flaunt and a fling, bare-sconced, and the red bluid spatter’d a’ o’er your new leather jerkin! Shame on you, Andrew! in what mishanter hast thou broken that fule’s head o’ thine?” “Peace, mither!” said the young man, taking breath, “I hae seen the bogle!” The old lady had a long line of reproaches, drawn up in order of march, between her lips; but the mention of the bogle was the signal for disbanding them. A thousand questions poured in, in rapid succession. “How old was she? How was she dressed? Who was she like? What did she say?” “She was a tall thin woman, about seven feet high!” “Oh Andrew!” cried Effie. “As ugly as sin!” “Other people tell a different story,” said Effie. “True, on my Bible oath! And then her beard----” “A beard, Andrew!” shrieked Effie: “a woman with a beard! For shame, Andrew!” “Nay, I’ll swear it upon my soul’s salvation! She had seen saxty winters and mair, afore e’er she died to trouble us!” “I’ll wager my best new goun,” said the maiden, “that saxteen would be nearer the mark.”